Chapter Fourteen Khai
Chapter Fourteen
Khai
I linger in the shadows, sealed inside my blacked-out car, anonymous, forgettable. The kind of presence no one registers until it’s far too late. Smoke burns my lungs as I draw it in slow, patient drags, eyes fixed on the sliding doors. I’m waiting for her.
When she finally emerges into the quiet car park, unease clings to her like a second skin. She scans the darkness, sharp and wary, as if she can feel eyes on her, mine. Her steps are quick, purposeful, but fear threads through them all the same.
She keeps looking back. Around. Searching for something she can’t see.
Her hand rises to her sternum, fingers pressing briefly as her face tightens. A flicker of discomfort. Or doubt. Then she drops her hand again, lips pressing together, silently chastising herself.
Interesting.
My little heaven reaches her car and slips inside with practiced urgency. The doors lock immediately. The sound echoes louder than it should. Only then does she exhale, shoulders sagging as if she’s been holding herself together by sheer will.
I release my own breath at the same time. I hadn’t realized I was holding it.
Her engine turns over and she pulls away, taillights disappearing into the night. My hands are clenched around my steering wheel, grip unforgiving, knuckles bleached white.
I will not follow her.
I don’t move until the sound of her car is completely gone. When silence settles again, my grip loosens and I take another long drag, eyes sweeping the shadows out of habit.
That’s when I see it.
One of the security cameras catches the light, new. Subtle. Not one of ours.
I narrow my gaze.
Someone else is watching her too.
When the last ember dies, I drop the cigarette out the window. The engine hums to life and I pull away, swallowed by the night.
My thoughts refuse to settle. They scatter, collide, nothing holds long enough to make sense. Control slips, thread by thread, until inevitably they circle back to her.
Her mouth against mine.
The way her body softened, surrendered, as if it recognized something in me before her mind could object. How easily she fit in my arms. How hard it was to leave.
How badly I wanted more.
The memories replay without mercy, her legs locked around me, her hands gripping as if letting go was unthinkable, the heat of her presence seared into my skin. Every detail is etched too clearly, branded where discipline should be.
My jaw tightens. My dick starting to get hard.
No.
I force the thought away, clamp down hard before it can drag me somewhere I won’t allow myself to go. Want is a weakness. Indulgence is a mistake.
Business. Focus.
The file surfaces in my mind like a lifeline. Keys’ message from earlier replays, he has the location.
Good.
It’s time to put the plan into motion.
I take the long way to the warehouse, letting the city stretch around me, the extra minutes a necessary indulgence. Time to think. Time to lock everything back into place. Desire had already been caged once tonight, I refuse to let it rattle the bars again.
By the time I arrive, Keys is already set up, exactly where I expect him to be. Screens glow in the dim light, maps and data spread like an open wound across the table.
“Have you even left?” I ask as I step up beside him, peering over his shoulder.
“Nope.” He doesn’t look at me, teeth worrying the drawstring of his hoodie. “Not a fan of unnecessary movement.” A pause. “Just sent you and Jaxon the bank name, location, and the easiest access point.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket on cue.
Efficient as ever.
“Thanks, Keys,” I say, giving his shoulder a brief tap. “That was fast.”
I move around the table and drop into a chair, watching him now. He finally looks up, one brow lifting, a knowing smirk curling his mouth.
“Not my first rodeo,” he says easily. “Which you know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have hired me.”
Then he’s back to his screens, fingers flying.
He knows how good he is. Knows his value. And so do I. Five years we’ve worked together, and not once has he failed to dig up what I need, no matter how buried it was meant to stay.
“You should know,” he says after a moment, eyes never leaving the data, “there’s a lot of activity tied to this safety deposit box.”
My attention sharpens.
“Someone checks it every 48 hours. Exactly forty-eight. 9p.m. Like clockwork.”
He doesn’t need to say the rest.
My father isn’t careless. And he doesn’t spook easily. If he’s circling his own assets, it means he feels someone closing in.
Good.
“That’s useful,” I murmur, standing. “I’m going to see Jaxon. We’ll put something together.”
I reach the door, then pause, half-turning back. “Thank you.”
Keys gives a single nod, no fuss, no false modesty.
I step out of the warehouse and into the night, the air cool against my skin as I head for my car.
The game is moving now.
And no one makes it out untouched. I slide into the car and fire off a text to Jaxon before I can think better of it.
Khai
On my way. Keys’ intel should be with you.
The reply comes instantly.
Jaxon
See you soon, bro.
His house isn’t far. For a reckless, unhinged bastard, Jaxon has always had a taste for beautiful things, solid walls, clean lines, the kind of place that looks like it could survive a war.
I pull up, kill the engine, and head straight inside.
No knocking. No hesitation. This place stopped being just his years ago.
“In the kitchen,” he calls out.
I follow the sound of his voice. He’s leaning against the counter when I enter, beer in one hand, a folded newspaper in the other. I arch a brow.
“It reads?”
He snorts and tosses the paper at my chest. “I like to know what kind of world I’m stepping into before I walk outside, asshole.”
I grunt, bypass him for the fridge, grab a beer, and crack it open. The first swallow burns, welcome, grounding.
“So,” he says casually, mimicking my tone as he takes his own drink. “Saw the intel.”
His eyes stay on me this time. Careful. Measuring. He’s holding something back, and we both know it.
“Spit it out, Jaxon.”
He studies me for a long second, then exhales slowly. “Are you sure you want this, man?” His voice drops. “Whatever’s in that box… once you open it, there’s no closing it again. Do you really need to dig that deep? Do you really need to rip that wound open?”
I feel it then, the slow, familiar crawl of rage under my skin. The kind that never really leaves, just waits.
“Yes,” I say, flat and sharp. “He’s hiding something tied to me. That means it matters. And if he’s guarding it this closely…” My voice rises despite myself. “Then it’s something that could ruin him. Something lethal. Something I can use to finally end this.”
End him.
Be free.
Jaxon nods, jaw tight. He understands that hunger. That need. “I get it,” he says quietly. “I do. But Khai, this could just as easily be a bullet with your name on it.”
He takes another drink, then, stupidly, keeps talking.
“Liam’s dead, man. Whatever’s in that file,”
I’m on him before he can finish.
I slam him back into the fridge, metal rattling, my fist twisted in his shirt as I crowd his space, breath coming hard and fast.
“Do. Not. Say. His. Name.”
Each word is carved out of me, sharp enough to bleed. My vision narrows. All I can see is Liam’s smile, burned into my memory. All I can hear is the echo of a laugh that will never exist again.
I hold Jaxon there, fury shaking through me. His eyes flick between mine, fear, regret, grief all tangled together.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, voice rough. “I didn’t mean disrespect. I lost him too.” His throat works. “I miss him too. And I,” His voice cracks. “I’m scared I’ll lose you next.”
That does it.
The rage drains just enough to leave behind something worse.
Pain.
“Fuck,” I mutter, releasing him and stepping back. I drag a hand down my face. “I’m sorry.”
The word feels useless. Too small.
We stand there in silence for a moment, the weight of Liam pressing down on both of us like a shared ghost.
“Let me do it,” Jaxon says finally. “Let me retrieve the file. He won’t recognize my guys if things go sideways.”
I don’t argue. He’s right. And we both know it.
I give him a single nod.
The plan is moving now.
I leave Jaxon’s place after finishing my beer, the edge of my anger dulled but never gone. It never really leaves, just sinks deeper, waits. The road stretches out empty before me, asphalt glistening under streetlights, the night quiet enough to think.
Too quiet.
The car’s audio cuts through the silence with an incoming call. My jaw tightens the second the name flashes across the screen.
Father.
I hesitate, then accept, keeping my eyes on the road as if distance alone could dull his reach.
“Khai,” he says, voice smooth, almost warm. Too warm. “I just wanted to check in after our… disagreement.”
Casual. Careless. Like he isn’t holding knives behind his back.
“I’m doing just fine,” I reply coolly. “Was that all?”
A soft chuckle hums through the speakers, amused, indulgent. “You’ve seemed a little… distracted lately.”
The pause that follows is deliberate. Heavy. He wants me to feel it.
“Have I?” I say. “I hadn’t noticed.”
My patience is threadbare now, stretched thin enough to snap. He doesn’t rise to it. He never does.
“Be careful what you anchor yourself to, Khai,” he says, the warmth gone, his tone sharpening into something quiet and absolute. “Attachments have a way of becoming leverage.”
The line goes dead before I can respond.
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
Cold floods my chest, draining the blood from my face as my hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles bleaching white. The road blurs, not because I can’t see, but because I can see too clearly.
He didn’t say a name.
He didn’t have to.
This wasn’t concern. It wasn’t advice.
It was a reminder.
A leash pulled tight.
And somewhere out there, something precious has just stepped into his line of sight.
I don’t go home.
The night isn’t finished with me yet, and neither am I.
I turn off toward a bar rotting on the edge of the city, the kind of place the world forgets on purpose. Inside, the air is foul, cheap whiskey, sweat, sex, desperation ground into the floor. My boots stick with every step as if the building itself wants to keep me here.
I order a whiskey I don’t taste.
And then I see him.
Same face. Same careless slouch. The man who thought he could put his hands on what was mine and live long enough to laugh about it. I told him I wouldn’t forget. I told him I would find him.
I always keep my promises.
I stay where I am, watching him drink himself stupid. One glass for me. Five for him. Time drags. My patience sharpens. Eventually, he peels himself off the stool and staggers for the door, blind to the fact that death just stood up behind him.
Good.
Outside, the alley swallows him whole. He turns his back, careless, exposed. That’s when I move.
I grab him and drive him forward hard enough to rattle the brick, the sound ugly and final. He screams. I don’t let him. I force him quiet, force him still, force him to understand.
When he finally looks at me, recognition slams into him. Terror floods his face so fast it’s almost satisfying.
“I told you,” I growl, close enough that he can smell the whiskey and violence on my breath. “I told you how this would end.”
He begs. He sobs. His body betrays him completely, fear stripping him of whatever dignity he thought he had left. Blood and spit stain his mouth as he pleads.
I don’t feel mercy.
I don’t feel anything at all.
“You chose wrong,” I tell him calmly. “You should’ve kept your hands to yourself.”
Metal catches the light.
His begging cuts off mid-sound.
I step back when it’s done, chest heaving, the alley thick with the consequences of his mistake. I clean my blade on his jacket with clinical care, slide it back into my pocket, and walk away without looking back.
The night closes over it all like it never happened.
And somewhere deep inside me, something smiles.
I head back to the car, the night closing behind me as if it’s complicit. My hands are steady now. My mind isn’t.
It drifts to her without permission, always does.
Emmy.
There’s a grim sense of completion settling in my chest, something dark and heavy and earned. One less stain breathing the same air as her. One less threat roaming free. He’ll never hurt anyone again, especially not her.
The thought should bring peace.
Instead, it brings clarity.
She doesn’t belong in my world.
My world is teeth and blood and shadows. It devours anything soft enough to care. Anything pure enough to matter. And if I let it touch her, if I let him anywhere near her,
No.
I tighten my grip on the door handle, resolve locking into place.
I won’t pull her into the dark.
I’ll tear the dark apart first.
Before it ever reaches her.